


sleep/wake

by fadewords



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: (which i figure is set loosely in the early BoB-era), Dissociation, Food, Gen, [EDIT: alright this motherfucker's got proper caps now], [ain't nothin i can do bout that. s'jus parta the Style], [still suuuuuper heavy on the em dashes & parentheses tho], also oh right fuck uh, but i got lazy & so instead there's jus this, different ways taako might've handled bein sick at different points in his life?, i got. bored, i had Thoughts that i might go through & try n trace out like, sort of a 5+1 thing u know, there we go i think that's all the uhhhhhh relevant tags ? yea, ur bog-standard sickfic really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-07-01 00:13:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15762627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fadewords/pseuds/fadewords
Summary: taako curses every inch of the stupid moonbase, and its stupid moon-germs.





	sleep/wake

Taako jolts awake, breathing ragged and shallow, chest tight.  
  
Eyes, he thinks vaguely. Eyes and teeth and rain and.  
  
And.  
  
It slips away.  
  
He presses his hands to his eyes. (They're sore. He's been crying, then. Great. Explains the pressure in his temples and sinuses and general...face. Dehydrated.)  
  
Okay. So that...that wasn't great, he allows. (But he's had worse doozies, so.)  
  
He doesn't let himself wonder what it was about. Cuts straight to the chase, measured breathing, in seven, out five, cause he's gotta get it under control somehow (and because he feels, maybe, sort of, a little bit, like he's going to be sick). Swallows reflexively, and notes with no small amount of displeasure that his throat’s kinda raw. (Been screaming too, then. Wonderful.)  
  
(Can't have been too much, though. No one's ogling him in the dark, asking is he okay. Or, actually, even awake that he can tell. The others really do sleep like the dead.)  
  
(Small mercies.)  
  
Taako allows himself another minute or so to lay there, breathing, breathing, hands pressed so hard to his eyes he sees green sparks, and then he stops, slides his hands down his face. Moment over.  
  
Sits up. Leans back against the wall. (He doesn't want to go back to sleep just yet.)  
  
His eyes don't care. Threaten to close anyway. Brain threatens to fuzz right back to eyes and rotting teeth and rain and—  
  
He starts awake again.  
  
A drink. He'll get a drink. Usually helps.  
  
So he struggles out of bed, pulls himself to his feet, and trudges to the kitchen. Hot cocoa sounds good….  
  
...But he stands there, hands hovering over the drawer with the chocolate, for a solid minute, and then steps away, gets water instead.  
  
Less luxurious, maybe, but whatever, it's late as shit, and he's wiped, and he doesn't wanna stir (or stand) for as long as it takes to make it, and it's all key lime anyway, so.  
  
Drinks the water slowly, heads back to bed.  
  
Lies awake for a while, eyes growing ever heavier, and then, finally, crashes.  
  
-  
  
Wakes again, and instantly regrets it, because _fuck_ , his head's killing him.  
  
Like, it was complaining before, when he woke up in that—half-panic, but this. This is. It's not just some pressure, now. Not just the telltale heat and under-the-skin stretching that a glass of water can fix.  
  
This. This is some _bullshit_. Some next-level bullshit, pounding and everything, and he hasn't even _moved_.  
  
Even more bullshit is the rest of him hurts, too. His whole fucking body, even his skin. And he _knows_ , he knows what that means, what it always means, but he swallows experimentally anyway, just to confirm. And, yeah, okay, it's like sandpaper and sewing needles had a baby, and that asshole baby decided his windpipe was the ideal place to hang with a dozen of its asshole friends.  
  
Fucking hell.  
  
Taako curses every inch of the stupid moonbase, and its stupid moon-germs, and scowls and tries to go back to sleep.  
  
-  
  
Can't.  
  
Can only lay there, temples throbbing, limbs heavy as shit, skin prickly as hell, and try not to clear his throat. (He's pretty sure if he does he'll start coughing, and he's not super eager for that.)  
  
Annoying as shit. He just wants to _sleep_.  
  
No sooner has he thought this, though, than the door opens and in walks Merle. And then Magnus. (Fucking hell.)  
  
He closes his eyes quickly.  
  
“Hey, Taako,” Magnus says. “Rise and shine, buddy, you'll sleep the day away!”  
  
That's the plan, he doesn't say. (Isn't sure he has a voice to. Water might fix that, but then he'd have to get up. Which, no. Not for Taakos, not today. No thanks.)  
  
“Taako?”  
  
“Aw, let him sleep,” Merle says. “A man needs his beauty rest.”  
  
“Well, alright.”  
  
A little more chatter, and then they leave again and the room is blessedly silent, and he breathes a sigh of relief.  
  
Mistake. Mistake. It catches, he coughs, and yeah, okay, hurts as much as expected. Makes his head hurt more, too, so that's a nice lil bonus.  
  
He swallows, and _that_ hurts too, but no more than before, so that's, like, fine.  
  
Except for how it _sucks._    
  
But whatever. Whatever. He'll fall back to sleep eventually, sleep it off. (Good ol sleep. S’never failed him yet.)

  
-

Y’know what, fuck sleep. Fuck it right to hell.

Keeps hanging obnoxiously, teasingly, just out of reach, leaving Taako sluggish but (most illegally) one-hundo percent conscious.

Ugh.

He rolls over. Finds his back, in particular, hurts now. Because of course it does.

He ignores its protests, curls up on his side in the sleepy sack, back to the wall. Scrubs his itchy nose, finds it drippy, too. Gross.

He's gross.

Scrubs it harder, because it's still itchy and still drippy, both -ys, and he hasn't got tissues and like _hell_ is he using either his good shirt or his sleepy sack, he's not a _heathen_.

It just drips more. He tries sniffling, futilely, and then again, and then sighs in frustration, which makes him cough, which only makes him even _more_ drippy, and makes his head pound horribly besides, so he gives up.

There have to be tissues in here somewhere. Or, fucking—he'll take a dishrag, at this point. A fucking dishrag. That's what he's been reduced to.

….But later. Later. He doesn't want to get up just yet. He'd rather lay in a lump and feel sorry for himself just a little while longer.

So he does. Lays still, breathes, tries not to cough. Tries instead to figure out who infected him so he can plot their murder.

Plots a faceless murder when he can't.

Then, finally, when he can't stand the feel of slime on his upper lip any longer, he crawls out of bed and stands—and steadies himself on a bedpost because, uh, whoa, too, uh, too fast there. Too fast. Lil bit of a headrush. Lil bit like a gong inside his skull.

When his brain settles, he moves, slowly, carefully, keeping his head still, to the kitchen, where he grabs a dishrag and blows his nose. Which fucking hurts, because of course it does.

Then he grabs a cup, fills it with water, drinks (and that hurts too). Refills it and drinks anyway. Fills it a third time, takes it back with him to his bed, sets it on the floor. And then he crawls back to bed, gets situated, and waits for his skull to settle back to its standard ignorable ache.

It occurs to him, belatedly, that he should probably have gone and looted someone else's Fantasy Tylenol (cause he deffo doesn't have any of his own, Taako, like, never gets sick), and probably he should get on it at some point—but damned if he's gonna move again just now. That was, uh. That was enough, thanks.

...Tea also would've been a good idea. Or hot cocoa or some shit. Something warm. (He's starting to feel a bit chilled.)

Later, he decides. Later.

For now he's just. Just gonna lay here and plan his funeral a little bit. Just to pass the time.

He’s midway through crafting a suitably dramatic eulogy when it occurs to him that he feels...weird.

Not sick, exactly—though, uh, _yeah_ , that too, obviously—nah, more like, sort of.

Just weird.

Like. Off-kilter. Sort of itchy, maybe, in a way he can't quite put words to, a way that makes him unpleasantly foggy and deeply uneasy and—

He cuts off the line of thought before he can do anything stupid, like spiral, or worse, _cry_ , which’ll only make his efforts to keep hydrated fuckin pointless.

(Thank gods for the good-ol emotional offswitch. It's handy as shit.)

He closes his eyes and tries, again, to sleep.

He's still trying, flat on his back with his eyes shut, when he hears footsteps.

Great. People.

He ducks his head under a pillow (and stifles a groan because that huuuurts).

“Taaaako,” Magnus sings. “Up and at ’em, it's past noon, we've got training.”

Fuck no. Definitely not. No training for Taako, not today. (Try again tomorrow, maybe offer some money….)

“You've slept in enough, c’mon. Director's orders.”

Nope. Not happening.

“C’mon, buddy, don't make me get _Merle_ to wake you up.”

Taako isn’t entirely sure what a wakeup call from Merle entails, but like hell is he gonna wait around to find out, so—

“I'm awake,” he says, as clearly as he can. (Which is pretty damn clearly, as it turns out. He sounds almost normal. Kinda stuffy, but hey, not croaky, that’s a win.)

If Magnus notices that Taako’s just said “I’b awayg,” he doesn't comment. “Good, let’s get moving then!”

“Nah, Taako’s—” His voice cracks a little. He clears his throat, tries again. “Taako’s good in here.”

“But the Director—”

"Can kiss my ass. Taako’s takin a day off.”

"But—”

"Tell her—tell her I’m havin a little R&R. Lil staycation. Lil personal day. Snoozeathon, y’know. Good for the soul.”

“...Right. I'll just...tell her you're busy, then?”

"Good, yeah. You do that. Now buzz off, Mango.”

"Buzzing,” Magnus says with an audible grin, and he leaves.

Fucking finally.

Taako lays there a long moment, then stretches an arm out, fumbles for the dishtowel, blows his nose. Coughs, gross and wet, and knuckles his stupid chest.

It occurs to him, as he does, that he could’ve just said he’s sick. Probably would’ve made the whole skipping-training thing easier. Made the Director a little less P-O’d.

Ah well. Too late now. And, honestly, it’s just as well, cause the idea of Magnus—and subsequently everyone else, probably, he doesn’t seem like a guy who can keep a secret—knowing Taako’s not at one-hundo percent soooorta makes his skin crawl, a little bit.

Just. Hghgh. No fucking thanks.

Best case, they leave him the fuck alone, don’t talk to him, don’t even look at him, just let him be miserable in peace. Worst case—and far more likely, he suspects—they hover.

(He’s plagued, momentarily, by horrifying images of Magnus "Protector” Burnsides with a million awful cups of oversteeped tea, and Merle just behind him with several different creepy plant remedies in hand. Magnus with a thousand _how can I help_ s. Merle with terrible jokes. Magnus trying to _touch his forehead_. Merle trying to _sing_.)

Taako shudders. Quite frankly, he’d rather _die_.

(Though, like. Now that he thinks about it. If it were just a cold or some shit, that might be some shit he could get in on? Not the whole full-fledged horrorshow he’s envisioned. But, like. If he could temper it, take advantage of Magnus’s whole hero complex to make him his personal servant for the week? _Hell_ yeah, sign Taako the _fuck_ up. _Magnus, I'm cold, get me my robe. Magnus, I'm thirsty, get me some tea. Magnus, my head hurts, fix it. I need tissues, Magnus. I need soup, Magnus. I need entertainment, Magnus. Magnussss...._ )

(But as it stands, that whole sort of deal sounds _exhausting_ , so he’s not gonna try. Better to keep it under wraps.)

Cause, like, bad enough to wake up feelin like shit, but having to suffer that _and_ how very... _much_ the others can be—should be classified a form of torture, he’s pretty sure.

(Course, there’s always the chance he’s sized them up wrong, the chance—however slim—they’re a little more normal, and might strike some kind of middle ground. Rag on him, maybe. Tell him to keep his germs to himself, or suck it up, or—whatever else.)

But whatever. In any case, the point is he doesn't want them knowing. Not this time.

Cause, just, he can handle himself. Doesn't need any hovering, or comments, or extra attention or _noise_. Just needs to be left the hell alone, to shed these germs in his own damn time, and  _sleep_.

But first.

He sits up, drinks more water, blows his nose again and oh he's already laid back down well that's convenient.

Closes his eyes. Tries to drift off. (Mostly fails.)

Tugs the sleepy sack closer round himself. (Still a bit chilled). Coughs, crackly and harsh, curls up small, and wishes for more blankets. Contemplates stealing Magnus’s as he coughs again.

…..Nah. Too far away, too much hassle. Too heavy. (The guy likes ‘em bulky, and Taako can’t fault him for that, hell, his own sleepy sack’s weighted—but he’s not sure he’s got the energy to drag them, is the thing.)

Though, speaking of stealing…

Fantasy Tylenol. Should grab some, take it, ’fore the others get back.

Should.

Several minutes later, he crawls out of bed and walks, squinting, over to Magnus’s stuff. Paws through it. Nothin. He turns to Merle’s. Also nothin. Except, wait—yeah, okay, stuffed under some woolen socks, Fantasy Dayquil. Rad.

He drinks some on the spot, takes the bottle back to bed. Curls up with it.

After a while, sleeps.

-

Wakes disoriented and thirsty as shit, but less headachey and less chilled and more able to breathe without coughing up a lung, so, better. Score one for Taako.

He sits up and drinks the rest of his water, and almost immediately his nose starts running again. He scowls, wipes it roughly. And then again.

Then he gets up, washes his hands, makes food a little haphazardly. Scrambled eggs (easy, simple, he can do them in his sleep). Then he gets more water, eats the eggs, and drinks the water, and stares down at his empty cup.

What now?

...Shower? His hair feels gross, so. Probably shower, sure, why not.

He showers. Thinks about brushing his hair, but decides against it, ties it back in a loose bun instead, and then heads to the kitchen to tidy up his dishes because he's on fucking fire, here.

(Moon-plague _who_? Taako’s _great_.)

And then he nearly drops the skillet on his toes.

Blinks down at it. Picks it up, ignoring his spine’s protests. Puts it in the sink. Goes back to bed.

-

Lays there awake so long he swears he can _feel_ the Fantasy Dayquil slowly wearing off. The headache trickles back in, fatigue settles in the corners of his eyes, gums them up. His breath starts to snag again, the urge to cough tickles the back of his throat. His skin prickles, inch by inch.

By the time the others get back, stomping loud enough to wake the dead, he’s covered in goosebumps and wishing he’d stolen Magnus’s blankets after all. Or at least changed into warmer clothes after his shower.

Merle leaves pretty quick, but Magnus sticks round, loud and obnoxious and sweaty enough Taako can smell it even through his garbage nose. And then he tries to _talk_ to him, and oh, Taako could just about slit his throat, and he tells him so.

"Okay,” Magnus says. "Little harsh, but.”

"What's harsh,” Taako says, suppressing a cough, "Is you. Harshin on my vibe. It's still Taako day up in here, kemosabe.”

Magnus laughs, and doesn’t leave for another six minutes of very one-sided chatter.

When he does, Taako swigs a little more Fantasy Dayquil and wiggles all the way down in bed.

-

“—get that it's Taako time and all, but you still need to clean up after yourself.”

The hell?

Taako uncurls, pokes his head out a little, squints at Magnus through the hair that's come loose from his bun and got in his face.

"The kitchen’s a mess!” Magnus points at him accusingly.

….Oh. He vaguely remembers dropping a skillet, but he picked that up. Maybe left some eggshells? Unclear. But whatever it is, Magnus can clean it himself. Taako ain’t bothering.

"Are you listening? There's egg slime on my _feet_.” He rolls his shoulders in obvious revulsion. "It's _gross_.”

“...Mmm,” he says.

"Ugh.” Magnus walks away.

Score one for Taako.

He pulls the sack closer, curls up small, and tries to sleep.

Eventually, succeeds.

-

Wakes to pitch black, jackknifing upright, coughing, then breathing raggedly, looking round—

Hisses, presses his hands to his temples, tries to breathe a little quieter, get ahold of himself.

Manages, after a while.

Pushes himself back in the corner and pretends his arms aren't shaking. Stupid fever. Stupid dream. Stupid, stupid.

His face is hot. Breath is hot. Eyes are hot and fuck, he's not crying. Nope. Taako doesn't do that, not _awake_. A little fucking virus doesn't make him fucking—weepy. He's not _Magnus_.

Except his cheeks are wet, now, a little, and his shoulders are shaking and he can't quite breathe evenly, and now he's coughing again, and, uh, wow, that sound isn't great, he isn't supposed to sound like Fantasy Rice Crispies, he's pretty sure, and his face hurts and—

He bites his lip, swipes his stupid eyes, breathes. If he doesn't fuck off he's gonna wake the others and they're gonna see and nope, nope, Taako’s not havin that, not today.

Eventually, he stops. Takes a bit longer than usual, but whatever, it's not his fault his brain is soup right now. It's someone else's. Whoever was a big enough dumbfuck to spread moon-germs all over everywhere. (At least Taako’s kept his confined to the bed, mostly.)

He wonders, again, who it was. Not Merle or Magnus, they haven't been sick, he'd know. (No way they’d be quiet about it.)

So, someone else. Someone.

He drifts off again to thoughts of revenge. Wakes blearily, resituates himself because sleeping sitting up fucking _hurts_ , and drifts again, in a haze of vague, unplaceable pain.

-

_He's seventy again and he needs a new coat. The wind keeps blowing brittle through the thin places in his old one, and its buttons are all janky, and it doesn’t keep out rain, much less sleet, and—_

_He needs a new coat._

_So he slips in the nearest tavern, takes a second to decide whether he wants kid or adult persona, chooses adult because kid stands out too much, in a crowd like this, and adopts all the necessary mannerisms and goes in and orders a drink he won’t pay for and hustles some pool and on the way out grabs one of the coats by the door, casually, like it was his all along._

_No one comes running after him. Success._

_But when he wraps the oversize coat round his shoulders, he finds it doesn’t have any buttons, or a hood, and when he tries to use twine to tie it shut for the time being his fingers keep slipping, too stiff with cold, and then the twine snaps and the coat starts unravelling at the sleeves and it starts to rain and—_

-

—Suddenly, hands, shaking him.

Taako starts, sucks in a breath, tries desperately to roll away, to keep from coughing. Fails on both counts.

"Nice try, you already played the sick day card yesterday, remember?”

Magnus.

Right. Right. Of course Magnus, right. Who else.

He burrows further into the sleepy sack, trying to get both warm and as far away from Magnus’s hands as possible, because if he tries to touch him again Taako swears he's gonna—

"C’mon—”

He’s closer now, too close; half-panicked, all-pissed, Taako casts Charm Person.

“...Did you—did you just try to _charm_ me?”

Well, fuck. He tries again, gathering as much concentration as he can.

“...Yeah, uh, still not charmed, what the _hell_?”

He stretches a shaky hand out of the sack, flips Magnus off.

"Right, cause that's—Taako?”

Too shaky? Too shaky. He slips the arm back inside. Tries to calm his shit. Tries to will the exhaustion away.

"Are you...okay?” A dip in the mattress as Magnus presumably sits on its edge. "What's wrong?” He pauses. "Bad dream?”

There’s a tilt to his voice like he thinks he’s right, like he wants Taako to share, like he might do himself just to open that road, and oh, _hell_ no. (Forget the moon-plague, _this_ is gonna be the death of Taako, this right here. He's gonna break out in hives, throat swell up, kick it right on the spot.)

In the interests of _not_ doing that, Taako makes an executive decision.

He sticks his head out, cranes it up a little, squints at Magnus, and croaks, “M’dying, my dude.”

Magnus stares.

What, too flat? Too serious-sounding? Maggie can be a little dense sometimes, maybe Taako needs to up the drama.

"Like, _for real_ , Taako’s gotta start drafting his will.” He slumps back on the mattress, coughs hoarsely, brushes stray hair out of his face. As an afterthought, leaves one hand resting regally over his eyes, motions with the other. "Fetch me a pen, chop chop.”

He can almost hear Magnus blink. "Wait. You’re actually sick?”

" _Excuse you_ ,” Taako says, lifting his hand and daintily pretending to wipe away sweat (not actually pretending, it turns out; there really is sweat, _gross_ ). "Not what I said. I said _dying_. Dy-ing.”

“...O-kay.” Magnus pauses, then laughs. "Pretty ironic, after yesterday.”

Taako doesn’t bother correcting him. "Sure, laugh at the dying guy. Real nice. Y’know, when I kick it, I'm coming back to haunt you specifically.”

"I look forward to it,” Magnus says, laughing again. Then, "So, you taken any Fantasy Tylenol?”

"Mmmmmmkay, three things. One, you’re super not my mom. Two, Fantasy Tylenol cannot save me from my impending moon-plague death.” He pauses, a little winded. "And three, ‘m way ahead of you, m’dude.” He retreives the Fantasy Dayquil, holds it aloft. "Check it.”

"Technically that’s not—hey, that’s mine!” Magnus grabs for it, and Taako tries to pull away, but too slow, and now it’s held tight in Magnus’s hand.

"No it’s not,” he protests, half-sitting up, trying to get it back. “S’Merle’s.”

"No, look, the label’s torn, and mine—”

“ _Pretty_ sure I lifted it from Merle’s stuff, but uh, okay.” Taako gives up, slumps back, head swimming a little bit. (Maybe sitting up and then back down so quick wasn’t one of his _best_ ideas….)

"Okay, so Merle stole it. And you stole it from Merle.”

"Bingo,” Taako says, because sure, that sounds about right. (Though then the question becomes when the hell was Merle sick enough to steal it? Or did he steal it for kicks, or—?)

"But you still—”

Taako fakes a cough just to shut him up. Regrets it instantly, because it only takes a moment before it’s not fake anymore and it’s hard to stop and—

The mattress shifts, and then there’s cool hands on his back, moving.

He swats them away. "Quit,” he barks, when he can breathe again. “Taako’s not for touching.”

"Sorry,” Magnus says. Then, after a pause, "But, uh. You’re—you do realize you’re feverish?”

Well, fuck. There goes the hope of passing this off as an overdramatized cold. Unless….

He winks slyly. "Y’tryna say I'm hot, Mags?”

"Shut up, no.” Magnus, Taako registers, is actually _blushing_ , holy _fuck._ "Temp—temperature-wise. You’re sorta warm.”

"I dunno, I feel like you’re _deffo_ tryna say I'm hot.”

"I’m _saying_ you’re sweaty and gross.”

"Ouch,” Taako says. "That hurts, Maggie. Cuts—cuts real deep.”

"I’m sure it does.” Magnus stands, rolling his eyes.

"And with me _dying_ and all,” Taako adds, just to drive it home.

"Mhm.” Magnus turns to go, then turns back. Tosses the Fantasy Dayquil on the bed. "Keep it. I'm gonna go train. Yell if you need anything.”

"Well, I'm still waitin on that pen,” Taako says.

Magnus leaves with a wave.

Taako relaxes. Sleeps.

-

Wakes up feeling infinitely worse.

His limbs, he’s pretty sure, are turning to stone. His head weighs at _least_ three Magnuses. (Magni...?) His chest hurts. His brain hurts. His skin hurts. His _eyes_ hurt.

He scrubs at them, and they’re sore. Why are they sore. (Is it the crying? No, that was _ages_ ago.) They haven’t even been _open_ , he’s been _sleeping_ , he hasn’t _done anything_ , he’s barely gotten out of bed—there’s no—there’s no _reason_ for any of this.

He lets his hands flop back down. Crawls out of the stiflingly hot sleepy sack, lays spread-eagled on the bed.

After empty, fuzzy time, he reaches, without looking, for the water tucked under the bed. Knocks it over.

Well, he thinks. Fuck. That’s probably not good. He should get up, refill it.

But the kitchen is, suddenly, very far away. Very, very far away. Too far for moving, just yet. In a few minutes, maybe. In a few….

-

Taako wakes with a strangled scream and a coughing fit and a rapidly fading set of impressions.

As he catches his breath, he tries to piece them together. Fire. Smoke. Fear. And a terrible sense of—of…..

But it’s gone now.

All that’s left is flame and smoke and the shakes.

He curls up and wraps his arms around himself, willing the trembling to stop. It doesn’t. Not even after he starts rocking a little, on his side. He just—can’t stop shaking.

It might, he thinks hazily, possibly, you know, just maybe, _might_ be because he’s cold. Sort of freezing, actually.

(He wonders, idly, how high his fever is.)

But crawling back in the sleepy sack is—effort.

And. And there’s something else. Something he meant to do first. What is it. What’s….

He swallows, and oh, right, yeah. Water. Taako needs some quality agua.

The kitchen’s still pretty far, but hey, the bathroom has a sink, too, right? And that’s closer.

So he walks there. Glances at himself in the mirror as he fills his cup, idly curious just how awful he looks now—looks away before he can get more than a flash of pale lips, dark circles, tragically disheveled hair, because it’s that thing again. That. That, uh. Thing. Fuck, what’s the word for it.

He knows there’s a word. That thing that means. You look in the mirror, and sure, that’s you staring back, that’s you all right, and you’re a person, a real actual person with thoughts and opinions and agency and—and—are you sure that’s you? (Of course it’s you.) Are you sure you’re a person? (Of course you’re a person, you’re more a person than you’ve ever been, right now, so much a person it’s dizzying—were you not one before? Were—?) Are you sure you’re real? (Are—?) Is—is anything? And you move and the reflection moves with you so it must be and you must be and so must everything else, but it feels—alien, wrong, bad, too much awareness too much awareness shut it down shut it down _breathe_.

That. Whatever the word for _that_ is. But worse than it’s been in a very long time (dizzying, disorienting, making him want to press his hands hard hard hard to his face just to make it _stop_ ), which, probably that’s the fever. Probably that’s a uh, bad sign, of sorts.

But hey, that’s what he’s here getting water for, right—oh his cup is overflowing. How bout that.

He drinks. Refills the cup. Drinks again, quick, greedy. (He’s so thirsty, and the water’s so cold, and besides that it’s helping the whole—thing. The too-real-half-out-his-body thing.)

—And then has to stop. Too quick, too greedy, he’s not going to be sick, nope, that isn’t allowed, one _hundo_ percent not allowed.

Sips the rest, refills the cup. Is about to go back to bed when he realizes he hasn’t _eaten_ anything, which is probably not helping, so he goes (a bit unsteadily) to the kitchen, grabs plain bread like a _heathen_ , and heads back to bed for realsies.

Sets the cup on the ground beside it, the bread on the mattress beside his pillow pile, and flops down and breathes.

He hasn’t, he notes dimly, coughed in a while. That’s nice. Small mercies.

He nibbles at the bread til it’s half gone, then drinks more water, then gives up on both. Good enough, right? Right. Definitely—deffo good enough.

He drifts.

Slides back into the sleepy sack as a chill wave washes over him. Huddles down small, wishes for more blankets. (He keeps forgetting to steal more blankets.)

Drifts again.

The door opens. He wants to hide, suddenly, abruptly, like a _child_. Doesn’t. Can’t muster the energy.

Slow footsteps. Soft.

Not Magnus or Merle, then. But if not them—who?

He forces his eyes open, squints. Can’t see. Too gummy.

"It’s just me.”

...Merle?

"How ya doin, kid?”

Flipping him off is too much energy. So’s talking. He rolls his eyes instead, hopes it translates.

"That well, huh.” Merle chuckles. "I’d offer to heal ya, but there’s no blood here, so. Bit useless.”

Really. Taako would never’ve guessed.

"Anyway, I'll get out of your hair now,” Merle says. "Just wanted to check if you were dead.”

Taako snorts despite himself, but Merle’s already gone.

Quiet creeps back in, settles in all the little corners. Peaceful.

Empty.

Taako closes his eyes again.

-

An instant later, louder footsteps, but still not the usual earthquake Taako’s come to associate with Magnus, so it’s a surprise when he hears his voice whisper-shout across the room, "You awake?”

"No,” he rasps, just to be contradictory.

"Oh,” Magnus says, back to normal volume. "Cool. Feel any better?”

"Peachy.” A pause. "You know, ’part from the dying.”

"Yeah, you sound like shit.”

"You. Specifically. Haunting.”

"That wasn’t even a sentence.”

"Haunting,” Taako insists, and smothers a cough in the sleepy sack.

"Uh huh. Well, before you go all ghosty, you need anything? Tea? Tissues?”

Willing-minion Magnus, called it. And, as predicted, he’s too exhausted to really milk it. Still, though, he thinks vaguely. Gotta do somethin. "...Pen and paper.”

Magnus furrows his brow. "Wh—? Ohh, ha. Right, Taako’s last will and testament. Let me guess, ‘All my belongings are to be buried with me. The end.’”

You know, Taako thinks, that’s not half-bad. Not that he’s going to admit it.

He blinks, and a moment later, there’s Magnus with pen, paper, and a broad grin. He takes them, tries not to wonder too hard how Mags got them so fast. All that matters is he did. And y’know, maybe Taako was wrong, maybe even half-dead he can get used to this, have a little fun, maybe—

"Anything else? Like, have you eaten? I can—”

Okay, ruined. Taako chucks the rest of his bread at him and points at the door.

To his meager credit, Magnus leaves.

Taako drops the pen and paper to the floor, too tired to follow through with the gag, and closes his eyes again.

-

Snaps them open, tries to sit up, wriggle away from the—the…?

"Hey, hey, easy kid, it’s just me. It’s Merle, remember, your buddy?”

Taako blinks blearily, scrubs his eyes, and relaxes a little because yeah, okay, that...sure is a Merle-shape. Short, beardy, arms held up all pacifying. "Mm?”

Merle lowers his arms, shrugs. "You looked cold.”

Taako blinks again, confused. He's freezing, yeah, but what's that have to do with—he looks down and, oh. A few blankets, half-piled over the sleepy sack. “...Mm.”

"Y’want ‘em?”

“......Mm.” He pulls his arms out, makes grabby hands.

Merle yanks them up higher with a distinct lack of paternal grace. Then, frowning, "Mind if I…?” and without waiting for an answer he presses a hand to Taako’s forehead.

Taako jerks away. Merle doesn’t follow.

"Bastard of a fever,” he says instead. "Y’want—?”

He shakes his head emphatically, though it makes it hurt worse, makes the room spin a little bit (a lot, he feels like maybe he’ll be sick). Breathes deep as he dares, braces himself for more bullshit, tries to gather the brainspace to Magic Missle the bastard into the next century.

"All right, see ya.”

And just like that, he’s gone.

Taako pulls the blankets closer. Can’t get them close enough. Still too cold, still like being trapped in a freezer.

(The pressure’s nice, though.)

-

Murmuring, the next room over.

-

A long, loud coughing fit.

-

Stupid, repetitive clicking that turns out to be his own teeth chattering.

(Fuck, he's so cold.)

-

Something cool on his forehead.

(He moves away, but it follows him.)

-

More murmuring.

-

Something missing. Something, something—

-

Leaning over the side of his bed, dizzy and shaking, searching, searching, _where_ , he _needs_ —

Something thin and cool and familiar pressed into his hands. Curved grip, smooth fabric.

He pulls it close to his chest, clings. Lets himself be guided back up on the bed, blankets tossed over him.

Curls under them, round his prize.

Finally, sleeps.

-

Wakes gripping the umbra staff so tight it’s left indents in his fingers.

Why in the fuck—

...Oh, right. There’d been. He’d wanted. And someone had shoved it at him. (Who?)

Unimportant. Or at least, not important enough to merit the indignity of asking.

He rolls over, and winces at a wave of pain that, when it arrives, is a lot smaller than a wince of that magnitude really merits.

Sits up. Rubs his eyes one-handed. (The other hand traces patterns in the handle of the umbra staff.)

"Hey, sleeping beauty awakes.”

Taako looks round—and there’s Merle, sitting cross-legged on the floor, braiding flowers into his beard.

"Hi,” he croaks.

"You dead yet?”

“...Tragically, no.” Though in fact, he actually feels—sort of better. Tired as hell, but awake for the first time in. He doesn’t know. A while. And no longer freezing (though still kinda cold), and the world’s not spinning, so hey, that’s a win. Those are all wins. Score...something for Taako. Fuck if he knows the numbers. (Eight hundred, how’s that.)

"Shame,” Merle deadpans. Then, with a bright grin, "Naw, I'm just messing with you. Glad you’ve returned to the land of the living.”

“...Uh-huh.”

"Y’want me outta your hair?” Merle’s already halfway to his feet.

 _Yes_ , Taako starts to say, but stops. considers. Merle hasn't been _too_ obnoxious so far, and if he's going to be this awake from now on he's gonna get bored. Might be chill to have someone to yell at, if nothing else.

“....Don’t care,” he says at last. "You do you, m'man.”

"Kay,” Merle says, and sits back down and keeps braiding in the flowers.

Taako waits for the interrogation, the mother-henning, the creepy plant remedies, but none of it comes. Merle just sits, and braids, and braids some more.

Taako watches a while, then leans back in bed and closes his eyes.

Opens one when Magnus comes in, half-sneers at him—but Magnus only waves, finds a corner, sits down, pulls out a block of wood, and starts carving quietly.

Slowly, a duck takes shape.

Taako closes both eyes again, traces more patterns on the umbra staff.

Falls asleep to the sound of knife on wood.

-

Doesn't dream.

-

Wakes to good-natured chatter, and lets it wash over him for a while before propping himself up lazily and joining in.

They greet him with sleeping beauty, ask if he’s dead yet, and then slide back into the preexisting debate about whether applesauce is a food or a drink.

(Magnus maintains it’s a food. Merle says it’s basically a smoothie. Taako settles the debate once and for all, and then declares it’s time for more shuteye.)

-

Wakes again and is, like, baaasically fine, but demands Magnus bring him an extra blanket anyway, just cause.

(He’s gotta take advantage of Magnus at least _once_ while with it enough to fully appreciate it, otherwise what’s the point?)

(That, and Taako wants a nest.)

Magnus looks disbelievingly at the pile of blankets Taako’s still half-buried under, but obliges, dropping it unceremoniously on top of the others.

Taako grins, arranges the lot more comfortably around himself, leans back, closes his eyes.

Hums.

(It’s a good-ass nest.)


End file.
